Dragon's First Wage
The dragon's sensitive hearing picked up morning first. Pots clanging in the inn's kitchen below, a horse snorting in the stables, even a rooster crowing somewhere in the village. All those noises hammered my eardrums at once.
I sat up, and the bed's wooden slats let out a long creeeak. I roughly draped the crumpled hemp cloth over my face and headed down to the dining hall on the first floor.
Even early in the morning, the place was already pretty lively. Two men in lumberjack gear were tearing into hefty loaves of bread, and in the corner, an old man was huffing on thin porridge before slurping it down.
The innkeeper woman at the counter glanced at me, then quickly looked away. She hadn't forgotten I was the guy who'd smashed her table last night, but she wasn't kicking me out outright. Breakfast being included in the room fee was all thanks to Toti putting in a good word ahead of time.
Miscellaneous grain bread and cabbage soup, paid for with someone else's money. I precariously balanced a cheap wooden spoon on my fingertips and scooped up a sip of the soup.
The dining hall door burst open. A face I recognized instantly. The guy with the scar on his jaw. The poacher leader from last night in the forest, the one who'd tried to twist Toti's arm.
My heart rate spiked. I clamped down hard on my emotions. Keeping my eyes fixed on the soup bowl, I quietly tracked his movements from the shadow of the hemp cloth.
The leader wasn't alone. His two usual cronies from yesterday were there, plus three or four unfamiliar faces clustered together. Fresh recruits scraped up at dawn, probably.
He glanced at me in the corner and stiffened for a split second, but with the numbers on his side now, he regained his nerve and turned away to claim the big table inside.
"Ran into something on the mountain last night," the leader said as he straddled the bench.
The new guys leaned in with curious faces.
"A magic beast?"
"Dunno. More like... some weird pressure. Lights went out, couldn't even breathe."
"Mountain ghost or something?"
"Ghost, whatever—ain't the point." The leader slapped a weathered leather map flat on the table. The exact same one he'd had on his lap in the forest last night.
"Magic beasts are all getting pushed down from the peaks. Rumors of ancient dragon traces in a summit cave have been floating around forever. Even one bone shard fetches a thousand gold from the magic tower. This is a once-in-a-lifetime shot for guys like us."
One of the men nearby chimed in cautiously. "But you said you ran into something weird last night. Isn't it dangerous?"
"That's why I need more hands." The leader swept his gleaming eyes over the new faces. "We leave before dawn tomorrow. Through Green Rot Forest, up the eastern ridge of Black Thunder Mountains—two days to the summit cave. More people spreads the risk and shares the load. Pay's even split of the haul."
"Who knows the trails?"
"Gonna ask that herbalist girl again. If she stonewalls, we'll go by the map alone."
My fingers tightened fiercely around the spoon. Tomorrow before dawn. No time to waste.
The cave was littered with centuries of my traces. Walls melted by breath, deep claw marks in the floor, maybe even shed scales. If even one piece made it to the magic tower, the survival of a calamity-class black dragon would be official, and the whole empire would mobilize for a subjugation.
I had to wipe every trace clean before that search party set out. Climb the mountain tonight—which meant the inn fee I'd borrowed from Toti was nagging at me.
—No, wait. There was a more pressing issue right now.
The cloak. My only disguise was this one crumpled hemp rag over my head. Fine for nighttime prowls like last night, but no guarantee the round trip to Black Thunder Mountains' summit would wrap in one evening. If I ran into someone en route, hiding these golden eyes perfectly with this flimsy scrap was impossible.
I desperately needed a proper dark cloak with a deep hood to bury my whole face in shadow. And to buy one, I needed money.
Incurring more debt on top of what I already owed? Or pay it off in labor right now?
Unconsciously, a ominous crack sounded from under my left hand gripping the table edge. The wooden surface was deeply dented in the shape of my fingers.
Shit.
I yanked my hand back in a panic. Five distinct finger marks gouged clear as day. Praying no one saw, I hastily dragged the soup bowl over to cover them.
I need to make money. Today.
The penniless dragon's to-do list had just grown by one more line.
Stepping out of the dining hall, morning sunlight flooded through the hemp cloth. In the village's small central square, a few locals were bustling around loading a cart. A sign dangling from it read "To the Lumber Camp."
Next to it, a burly man bellowed, "One more porter! Haul to the forest outpost and back—three silver coins!"
Three silvers. I didn't know exact Rune Village prices, but it beat zero by a mile. The catch was the job itself.
Hauling human loads with a dragon's strength was like lifting a paper cup. And I'd have to pretend it was the heaviest thing in the world.
I faked looking busy in front of the team lead thousands of times in my past life.
I took a deep breath and approached the cart. "Porter spot open?"
The man paused, scanning me up and down. The bizarre hemp-head look screamed untrustworthy, but my broad shoulders and arm contours must've sold him.
"You got the muscle. Ever walked mountain trails?"
"A bit."
"Good. Eight sacks in back. Carry 'em to the outpost."
I shouldered the carrying frame and loaded the sacks. Grain or whatever—eight hefty bags by human standards. To me, like feathers on my forearms.
Heavy. Act heavy.
I deliberately slumped my shoulders, bent my knees a touch, dragged my feet. When the other porters groaned, I timed a soft grunt. "Ngh."
Too quiet— a porter glanced over curiously. I upped the volume. "Hrrm."
Better this time. Maybe.
The cart exited the village east, veering onto a steep mountainside path. Post-rain early spring trails were slick, and every pitch steepened the porters' breaths.
I matched the rhythm, faking pants. "Ha, ha."
Thought it'd be easy—just choppy exhales. But this act was tougher than expected. A dragon's lung capacity could collapse a cave with one sigh. My body straight-up lacked a "labored breathing" mode.
Still, I gaped my mouth and mimed heaving for show.
The path to the forest outpost was brutal. While the other four porters took turns collapsing to rest, I forcibly halted and braced my knees in sync.
Blend in: match the group perfectly. Valuable lesson from past-life K-office grind.
Around noon, I dropped the load safely at the outpost and pocketed three silvers. Shockingly light in my palm. But it was the first money I'd earned selling my labor in this world.
Pay Toti back later—wonder if this buys a cloak.
Descending with satisfaction, a familiar voice piped from the brush. "Huh?"
Toti popped her head from roadside thicket. Herb pouch at her waist, short sickle in hand.
"Young master? You did porter work?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa, making money. From smashing poachers with a spoon last night to hauling sacks today?"
She brushed dirt off and climbed to my side, sticking close. Fresh grass scent wafted from her.
"But." She cocked her head, peering up at my face. Only jaw and mouth visible under hemp, yet her gaze was stubbornly thorough.
"Young master, you hauled eight sacks up and down this slope, right?"
"Yep."
"Then why no sweat at all?"
Ah. Only then did it hit me. Dragon thermoregulation was worlds apart from human. Even in human form, no sweat glands? Forehead bone-dry no matter the climb. The other porters' shirts were soaked.
"My constitution."
"Constitution?"
"Don't sweat much."
Her eyes narrowed. Daylight sharpened the eyes under her red hair—dissecting like an unfamiliar herb's veins. Suspicion? More analytical.
"You hiked trails half the night yesterday too. Not even winded. I saw you going up—no way that was a guy with eight sacks."
She saw?
"You watched me climb?"
"Gathering herbs near the outpost. Spotted that big hemp-headed bulk from afar."
This herbalist—where were her blind spots?
"Young master, nobles don't do manual labor. But you lift heavy sacks like feathers, no sweat on steep trails, no huffing."
She stepped closer, glaring at my jawline under the hemp. "What the hell did you eat growing up?"
"......Rice."
"Rice does this?"
"Good rice."
She snorted in disbelief. But didn't dig deeper, switching topics abruptly. "Three silvers—what for?"
"Cloak."
"Cloak? Oh, right. Hemp's at its limit."
She raked me top to toe. Optimistically: giant homeless in crumpled hemp.
"Sundries shop. I know a place. Might haggle a deal."
No reason to refuse.
Rune Village's sundries shop sat at the square's corner. Faded wooden sign: Janet's Sundries. Brooms, ropes cluttered the entrance.
Door chime jingled cheerfully. Shelves to the ceiling crammed with junk—musty dust, old leather, dye scents thick.
"Janet aunty!" Toti drummed the counter. Gray-haired middle-aged woman emerged from back.
She flinched at my hulking frame, shrinking back instinctively. Not conscious—faint Dragon Fear residue triggering reflexes.
"This guy's my friend. Needs a cheap cloak. Got any?"
Janet eyed Toti, then me warily. I dipped my head in hemp-shadowed greeting; tension eased, she rummaged shelves.
"Traveler cloaks, few options. Budget?"
"Three silvers."
Her face twisted oddly. Not great picks at that price, obviously.
"This?"
She pulled a light brown pellerine coat. Hooded, but fabric too thin—daylight'd show eyes.
"Something else. Darker color, deeper hood."
She dug again, producing a deep indigo cloak. Substantial fabric, deep hood perfect for burying face.
"Four silvers."
One short.
"Aunty, Toti regular discount?"
"Toti, regulars buy stuff. You just browse."
"I supply herbs! Counts as trade!"
Janet sighed deeply. Toti leaned casually, batting subtle eyes. Janet glanced between us, relenting. "Three silvers. But next herb delivery, free bundle of root perilla."
"Eh, root perilla's kinda—"
"Four then."
"Deal! Deal!"
I set three silvers on the counter. She checked coins, slid over the cloak.
Doffing the ragged hemp unleashed silver-white hair cascading like a waterfall. Janet's eyes bulged. Toti gawked at the first sight of silver-white too.
I flung the cloak over shoulders. Solid, stable weight worlds above cheap hemp. Hood yanked deep over head without hesitation.
Vision narrowed. Brim cast long shadow below brow.
Checked in the counter's dingy mirror. Few silver strands peeked from indigo gloom; golden eyes utterly vanished. Slight head dip shrouded even nose tip—pupils indistinguishable head-on.
Perfect. Daytime jaunts drastically safer now.
"Whoa, looks way more human now."
Toti tilted head, appraising.
"Wasn't before?"
"Giant something in hemp? Honestly sketchier than a bandit."
Undeniable fact.
Outside grew rowdy.
"—Assemble before dawn tomorrow! Front of square! Latecomers left behind!"
Through window: scarred leader bellowing to fresh recruits. Easily over eight heads—swelled since morning.
"Pack four days' rations, torches each. To Black Thunder Mountains summit cave and back. Treasure worth a thousand gold awaits!"
A thousand gold. Square's air ignited. In a frontier village where a porter's day was three silvers, that changed lives.
Crowd eyes glazed with sticky greed.
My fingers clenched cloak collar unwittingly. Fresh fabric crumpled roughly in fist.
Tomorrow dawn. Time critically short. Tonight. Soon as dark thickens, hit the mountain.
Storm summit, erase scales, claws, breath ash—every calamity black dragon remnant. Back before dawn.
Round trip. Human-form speed? No—from mid-slope, polymorph to full dragon and fly faster.
But massive size and power risked more traces.
Human form. Just sprint like mad. Compressed dragon legs at full tilt cover two human days in hours. Ground holding underfoot the issue—but distribute weight...
"Young master."
Toti's voice snapped my taut thoughts.
I turned; she alternated between window search party and me. Gaze dropped to my hands.
New cloak collar mangled like a rag in my fists. I slackened grip, smoothing furtively.
"Those guys are really heading up."
Her tone sobered. "Fled that weird wind last night, but morning they're recruiting like nothing happened. That scarred bastard's persistent."
"Seems so."
"What's in that summit cave to cause this uproar?"
She muttered to herself.
What? Me.
"Why you so hung up on them?"
"Not hung up."
"Nearly ripped the cloak collar."
This herbalist's observation is cheat-level.
"......Checking the new fabric feel."
"You suck at lying."
She giggled. But post-laugh eyes weighed heavy.
"If they poke something up there, more magic beasts flood down. Rune Village problem entire."
"I know."
"Knowing, what'll you do?"
I skipped answering. Search party dispersed one by one. Steps kicking dust toward dawn prep.
Leaving shop, I told Toti: "Don't come out tonight."
"Why?"
"Lure agent residue might linger in forest. Dangerous."
Half-truth. Other half: her nosy self tailing while I trashed the mountain? Major hassle.
She stared up. Indigo hood buried my face deep. Eyes invisible in shadow, yet this bold herbalist ignored my subtle intimidation.
"You're going out though."
"I'm fine."
"How?"
"Constitution."
She twitched lip like that excuse again. "That all-purpose constitution—gonna hear details someday."
She spun away, patting herb pouch, heading village inward. Red hair shattered dazzling in lazy afternoon sun.
I pressed hood firmer, strode to inn. At sunset, move out.
Summit route: shortest path crossing Toti's terrain intel and dragon instincts.
Centuries of traces, overturned in one night.
Mouth parched dry. Three-silver cloak rustled on shoulders.